


Cannabidaceae

by RunningFox



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 14:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11625459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningFox/pseuds/RunningFox
Summary: Krycek offers Mulder a joint.  They smoke it and talk for the first time in a very long time.





	Cannabidaceae

> Mulder was on the phone, walking the floors of his apartment. He’d been holding the clunky, plastic cordless piece to his ear so long, there was heat and sweat between his skin and the receiver. He’d had just about enough of talking into it, as did Scully, who listened intently on the other end but Mulder had… just a few more points to make before he hung up the phone.
> 
> “Furthermore,” he continued on, making a leisurely pace from out his kitchen into the small room connecting it with the living room, “it’s unlikely that /anyone/ from the Merkle house has ever been witness to, or experienced themselves, any form of telepathic or para-telepathic abilities. Scully, did you know, in 1951, a doctor by the name of Joseph Culpepper began work on examining the hereditary connections between telepathies? Not only did Dr. Culpepper discover that a family member of a telepathic is four times as likely to be a telepathic themselves but that they were also able to–what Dr. Culpepper called ‘melding’–into the minds of their family members, creating a brain pattern so perfectly in sync, it defied all known medical logic?”
> 
> “Uh… huh,” Scully sounded incredulous. He could tell. She went on, “So, if the Merkle family aren’t telepathic than there’s no X-File here, Mulder.”
> 
> “Dr. Culpepper later went on to amend his statements regarding the telepathic family he’d been studying. He called them ‘Family X’, how fitting, right, Scully? Anyhow, Culpepper went on to say that he did not believe Family X to /be/ really telepathic, at least not in the true sense of the word, and instead, upon closer inspection, determined that their high-end functions were not the result of a global cerebral synapse flair with external stimuli but /instead/ found that it was purely a response to continual, familiar hormonal responses. Namely…” Mulder trailed off for only a moment, to see if Scully was following.
> 
> “… when their family members were around,” Scully completed and there was, Mulder heard, a tiny spark of interest in her voice. Just a tiny one but it was there.
> 
> “Exactly, when their family members were around.”
> 
> “Mulder, are you suggesting that the Merkle family is–” there was hitch of laughter, like she couldn’t believe she was giving credence to the idea, “is /not/ telepathic with… the outside world? Just each other?”
> 
> “That’s how Georgia Merkle knew where to find her sister Rebecca. And that’s how Anthony and Wynn knew exactly how to play the law enforcement. They didn’t have to be together to match their stories–they figured it out silently. They had a whole conversation and we didn’t even know about it.”
> 
> “Why didn’t we get any of that on the charts? Wouldn’t we have seen some sort of reaction?”
> 
> “We recorded the brain scans of each one individually. Who knows how far the connection goes? Maybe… maybe they have to be near each other? Maybe they were just too far away? Family X refused any more tests after Dr. Culpepper’s second study was published and then he passed shortly after. Unfortunately, no one has thought to take back up his research.”
> 
> “Probably too busy trying to cure cancer,” Scully replied dryly. Mulder had been walking in a circle the whole time and he finally padded his way into the living room, eyeing the body on his couch.
> 
> “Yeah,” Mulder agreed than added, “Or making a pill that gives old men boners.”
> 
> Mulder knew she was smiling even as she said, “Well, Mulder, Merkle family abilities aside, I think they’ve taken up just about enough of my night as it is. Get some sleep, Mulder. Maybe tomorrow we’ll see if we can mind meld our lunch orders.”
> 
> “Yogurt and bee pollen. There, now we don’t even have to meld,” Mulder grinned, “Goodnight, Scully.”
> 
> “Goodnight, Mulder.”
> 
> Beep. And Mulder dropped his head back, standing in the remains of his clothing, on the outskirts of his living room. His tie had been discarded somewhere, probably slung over the lone chair in his kitchen and his shoes had been taken off at the door. He’d managed to get the first few buttons of his shirt undone before his ideas about the Merkles had struck him and he’d called Scully. That had been almost three hours ago.
> 
> “Is this what you two do all night?”
> 
> Mulder brought his head back down to look at Krycek, who lounged on the leather seats of the couch, in a comfortable shirt and jeans. At his feet, which propped on the coffee table, there was an empty Shiner Brock bottle. In his hand, there was another.
> 
> Mulder spoke his mind, off topic, “You look like a hillbilly husband.”
> 
> “You work on X-Files all day, then you come here and talk on the phone together about them all night,” Krycek went on, unfazed by Mulder’s change of subject. He sipped his beer, “That’s weird.”
> 
> “A lot of things are weird, Krycek,” Mulder tossed the phone to the cushions where it landed with a muted thump against them, “Some people would say this was weird,” he motioned with a finger between them, already turning to head into his bedroom, adding as he left, “a lot of people, really…”
> 
> Krycek had been here when Mulder had gotten home. He’d come in to find him sitting on his couch, finishing a movie. And Mulder hadn’t batted an eyelash, he’d just started the routine of undressing from the day.
> 
> Sliding around boxes and stacks of files, Mulder weaved his way to his dresser and began to rummage for his pajama pants. He grabbed a t-shirt while he was at it and crossed through his cluttered bedroom to the tiny adjacent bathroom. Mulder was brushing his teeth when he heard the soft sounds of a Ed Wood’s “Plan 9 from Outer Space” seeping in from the living room. Krycek must have slipped it into the VCR, he mused as he spit the foamy mess into the sink. Mulder had just watched it recently so the VHS was probably sitting out for him to find. He was alright with that, he wouldn’t mind viewing it again although he traditionally reserved it for when he needed to clear his mind. Perhaps that was alright, perhaps that’s exactly what he needed to do. Or he’d feel sick from the guilt he already knew was building up inside of him.
> 
> Mulder knew he should have never let him in. He never should have absolved him. But, he had, and now Alex Krycek was watching a movie on his couch. This realization heated his face with shame and sent a guilty shrill of pleasure up from the base of his spine. He liked knowing he was there. And absolutely hated himself for it.
> 
> There was an invisible rope tied to him, that tugged him back towards the sounds of the film, towards the man in his house but Mulder tried to struggle against it as long as he could. He took his time in the bathroom, changing out of his work clothes and stepping into his yellow pajama pants. His dress shirt was even neatly folded and his old t-shirt was tossed in the hamper, replaced by the new one he’d pulled. After he’d washed his face and taken a piss, he really had no more excuse to wait and he rejoined Krycek in the living room.
> 
> “You know, Mulder, I gotta’ tell you,” Krycek started as soon as Mulder reappeared, “this movie’s a real piece of crap.”
> 
> “Yeah, I think that’s kinda’ the point,” came Mulder’s reply as he took a seat on the couch, tucking himself into the far corner. Krycek had closed his blinds and flicked on the light besides Mulder’s computer. That light, along with the television and the fish tank, made this area of the apartment bright but rest seemed shrouded in darkness. It made Mulder feel isolated, normally something he enjoyed, but this time he felt closed off with Krycek. Wouldn’t it be nice, he wondered, if that were true and there was nothing outside of this room? Nothing to judge him or look at him in disgrace. Just him, Krycek and this terrible movie.
> 
> “Here,” Krycek pulled Mulder from his thoughts and offered out his beer bottle. Mulder hesitated a moment before taking the Shiner Brock and taking a swig. He handed it back to Krycek when he was done, who also took another sip. They watched the movie in silence for a while, sitting next to each other on the couch. Mulder could tell Krycek was stealing glances at him, like he always did on the rare occasions he was there, but Mulder chose to ignore it.
> 
> Mulder knew what Krycek wanted. It wasn’t why Krycek was here, but it was what he wanted. He wanted to fuck him and, Mulder thought bitterly, that he’d never let that happen again. Those days were long past them.
> 
> The last time they’d been together was almost six years ago. Mulder had been young then. And stupid. In his defense, he reasoned, he’d been tricked. Alex Krycek had not been Alex Krycek, at least not in the way he thought he knew him. The Alex Krycek who’d touched him at night, who melted him with searing desire and forced from him the wanton cries of man consumed had been a fantasy. He’d been a mirage of smoke and lies, summed up by darkness and guided by moral ambiguity. He’d humiliated Mulder; the real Krycek. He’d gotten him naked and begging and quivering. And it’d all been a joke. Something him and that cigarette smoking bastard could cackle over.
> 
> Mulder didn’t really believe that. Not in it’s entirety anyhow. Or, maybe, he wondered, he just /wanted/ to believe it. It couldn’t be possible it’d meant nothing to Krycek, that’d it just been work. That time, the time when they’d been partners and lovers in a memory from far away, had been so intense, so overwhelming to Mulder… Krycek must have felt it, too.
> 
> Either way, when Krycek needed a place to lay his head, Mulder’s apartment was always open to him and his lockpick. Every few months, Krycek would show up out of the blue, hoping to hide away while he worked in DC, and then he was gone. They would eat together, drink some beer, watch a movie, basically what they were doing tonight. Krycek would take a shower at some point. It was simple. Domestic. They just existence in each other’s presence and it was satisfying, just for the night. Sometimes, just once or twice, Krycek had stayed a day or two longer. Mulder hated to admit it, but those times he felt lucky. He always told himself he wanted Krycek gone but he felt hollow when he did.
> 
> Once Krycek had been gone for almost an entire year. Mulder had thought that… he’d realized he had to accept the fact that, maybe, Krycek wouldn’t be back. That, perhaps, he was dead. He knew Krycek would always come back, if he could. Year after year, blow after blow, and always still, Krycek never left Mulder’s life. When he’d seen him again, after that long year without, that long year of wondering, Mulder had held him. It was brief but when he’d seen Krycek again, he’d taken him in his arms and they’d stood together, clinging to each other in the entrance of Mulder’s apartment, silent. He’d let Krycek kiss him then, just once, on the temple. Mulder savored that memory.
> 
> There was movement next to him and Mulder was once again yanked from his reverie and he looked over at Krycek, who struggled to pull something out his pocket. When he finally got it, Mulder saw it was cigarette case.
> 
> “You’re not going to smoke, are you?” Mulder asked, “You kill me when you smoke.”
> 
> Mulder had kicked the habit while still in the BSU but it was never really gone. Watching Krycek puff away had more than once threatened to make Mulder break.
> 
> The cigarette case had a latch that allowed Krycek to snap it open with one hand, pressing the button with his finger. It swung open and he set it on his lap to get out what he wanted.
> 
> “Well, not a cigarette,” he had a grin that Mulder lovingly wanted to smack. Krycek slipped the joint out from the case and Mulder couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
> 
> “You’re really going to smoke weed, Krycek? How old are you? Better do it before the PE teacher finds us skipping laps. We might get suspended.”
> 
> There was a sparkle in Krycek’s eyes and he laughed listening to Mulder, just a small chuckle, “Is that how the great Fox Mulder spent his high school years? Behind the bleachers smoking dope and kissing the boys, no doubt.”
> 
> Mulder shook his head, attempting to suppress the smile he felt threatening to break through his disapproval, “No, I actually spent my time in school /learning/, Krycek.”
> 
> “What about college?” Krycek was fumbling again, trying to get the lighter from his pocket while keeping the cigarette case on his lap balanced. Instinctively, Mulder reached over to help him and, digging into his jeans, produced Krycek’s lighter and passed it off. Krycek quickly added, “Thanks.”
> 
> “Sure, and no. Not really. Surprisingly, Oxford had a particularly low tolerance for drugs. Now, of course, we were all consenting adults and if we wanted to drink away our very expensive educations at the pubs, they were perfectly fine with that. Just no…” Mulder gestured to the joint in Krycek’s hands with his chin.
> 
> “Besides,” Mulder shrugged his shoulder, “I was too busy for it anyway.”
> 
> “Right, gotcha. Did you kiss any boys?”
> 
> That made Mulder smile and he hated himself for it. He turned his eyes back to the television and, after a moment of reflection said, “A few boys.”
> 
> “I knew it,” Krycek was enjoying himself. He brought the joint to his lips and said around it, “You slut.”
> 
> Mulder laughed then and shook his head but made a point not to respond to the comment. He heard Krycek flick the lighter several times then, out of the corner of his eye, saw the little shimmer of light. Mulder looked over and watched him bring the flame to the joint end and inhale. Krycek dropped the lighter immediately upon getting the paper lit and pinched the joint with his fingers, taking short little puffs, trying to get an even burn.
> 
> “You know,” Mulder started, examining him, “I could tell you about the effects marijuana has on the brain. Not only physically, but psychologically. It’s a depressant, you know.”
> 
> “Sure makes me feel good,” Krycek’s voice was tight as he held back the smoke. Krycek knew his pot etiquette and, after hitting it, he reached out to hand it off to Mulder, who refused.
> 
> “Noooo. No, thank you.”
> 
> “What’s wrong, Mulder?” Krycek spoke as he released his breath, grinning, “Don’t you wanna’ be one of the cool kids? Come on. Just take it.”
> 
> “I’m not going to take it, Alex,” Mulder returned, “Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, we’re just a little too old for this? Besides, marijuana slows your reflexes, numbs your mind. That doesn’t seem like a wise move in your field of work, Alex.”
> 
> Krycek went quiet then and Mulder immediately felt guilty. There seemed a glumness that suddenly shrouded Krycek, who took one more hit, turning back to watch the movie. After a little bit of quiet, he released the rancid smelling smoke and said, “I’m not at work and I don’t get a lot of opportunity to get high like this. Figured I’d enjoy it as I could.”
> 
> Mulder watched him. Alex Krycek, slouched on his couch and smoking a joint, drinking a beer and watching Ed Wood. It was so ridiculous, it was preposterous. What killed Mulder even more was the sense of comfort he was brought by seeing it and the sudden realization that Alex felt safe. He felt safe here with /him/. The thought was… softening.
> 
> “Okay,” Mulder conceded, signaling Krycek with a wave of his hand, “Fine. Give me the joint.”
> 
> “Fox Mulder on weed. As I live and breathe,” Krycek’s eyes were foggy but at Mulder’s words they lit up with sudden clarity.
> 
> “Shut up, Alex. Just give it to me.”
> 
> Krycek didn’t hesitate to lean over, offering it to Mulder, who took it between his fingers with a twisting of uncertainty on his lips. It wasn’t like he /hadn’t/ smoked pot before but it wasn’t something that Mulder considered a favorite pastime, even as a young man. It was true, he’d had a late introduction to marijuana, trying it for the first time in college. Phoebe’s friends–his friends–loved it and Mulder had been a slave to peer pressure back then. He remembered it made him feel lightheaded, a little giggly and, most of all, he remembered wishing he could go to sleep–and then doing just that, leaving Phoebe still laughing with her friends.
> 
> Mulder examined the roll before bringing it to his lips to take a hit. He inhaled so deeply, for a moment he had tunnel vision but it began to dissipate and Mulder passed it back to Krycek. Just like a cigarette, Mulder felt the smoke in his throat and chest. He always imagined it swirling around the pink, tight tissue of his lungs. He held it as long as he could before he released it and was proud, oddly enough, just to cough a little when he did. It would have been embarrassing if he’d ended up red-faced and sputtering in front of Krycek.
> 
> “You’ll feel better in a minute,” Krycek said, hitting it again around his pleased grin. Cheshire cat.
> 
> “I felt fine before.”
> 
> “No, you didn’t. You’re tense, you’re always tense. Or maybe that’s just when I’m here.”
> 
> Nothing was said after that. They didn’t talk about that or their arrangement. Krycek handed the joint back to Mulder but it was just so he could use his good arm to re-shift on the couch, scooting down into more of a relaxed position. He picked up his beer again and took a sip, blurry eyes on the movie. Within the first few minutes, Mulder felt that easing haze begin to descend over him. He relaxed back against the cushions and tried to watch the film. Something, perhaps the air of quiet that had settled over them, made him speak up.
> 
> “You know, the first time I smoked pot,” he began, looking at it in his fingers. Mulder opted to take another drag. When he released it, he finished, “I feel asleep and when I woke up, my girlfriend was giving a hand job to some other guy.”
> 
> Either surprised by the story or the candid nature in which Mulder was talking, all of Krycek’s attention turned to him, eyes wide, “Jesus… that’s really shitty.”
> 
> Krycek took the joint back and added before puffing, “Breakups have a way of ruining a high.”
> 
> “Oh, we didn’t break up,” Mulder admitted, feeling the growing affects of the THC. His words were coming easier. Personal moments weren’t traditionally his favorite subject, especially not with Alex, but it seemed now that all that hesitation was silly. Mulder even managed to chuckle about it, “I dated her for about a year afterwards. Great love of my Oxford life.”
> 
> “You dated her for a year /after/ you woke up to her blowin’ some guy?”
> 
> “It was hand job.”
> 
> “What’d? You like… come to an agreement or something?”
> 
> “No,” Mulder sighed, turning his face from Ed Wood to Alex. He laughed again, more at himself than anything else, “No, we didn’t. We just didn’t talk about it. I never brought it up. I think she was doing a lot of stuff like that, now that I think back on it. I think I sort of knew then, too.”
> 
> “I would /not/ have tolerated that shit. I would have dumped her on the goddamn corner. Why’d you put up with it?”
> 
> “I don’t know,” Mulder shrugged, “I was young and… she was… uh, Phoebe was very…” he searched for the word, “experimental. She was very… sensual, I guess. I guess I just got caught up in it, like a lot of other men, I’d imagine.”
> 
> This had Krycek’s full attention and he was smiling wide with unmasked interest, “Sensual? Did she deflower you, Mulder?”
> 
> “Not everything is about sex, Krycek,” came the retort, “It was more than sex. She was sensual about everything. Everything was some new experience, some new sensation, some new angst or drama. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. It was this whirlwind all the time and when it was pleasurable, it was /really/ pleasurable–”
> 
> “But when it was painful, it was /really/ painful,” Krycek finished. The two had been passing the joint between them, lighting up and taking short drags.
> 
> “Exactly. I suppose I should have broken it off with her,” Mulder sighed, taking a sip from Krycek’s beer again–he was beginning to feel dry, “but she was my first girlfriend and, I guess, I just… I liked the validation.”
> 
> The comment was vague but neither one of them said anything else and Krycek didn’t question it. When Mulder looked at him, Krycek seemed reflective. He seemed to be considering the story he was just told and how it related to Mulder. His eyes were downcast, thinking. When Mulder couldn’t take it anymore, he asked,
> 
> “Do you want another beer? I’m going to get one,” he stood and began to walk towards the kitchen.
> 
> “Cotton mouth?”
> 
> “Oh, yeah. Big time.”
> 
> “Yeah,” Krycek said after him, “I’ll take another.”
> 
> Mulder returned a few minutes later, he’d lingered in the kitchen, and handed off an uncapped beer to Krycek. He plopped himself back down on the couch, although this time there was a comfort in his movements, unlike before. His knees touched Krycek’s briefly but it didn’t bother him. He didn’t want to admit it but maybe Krycek had been right; he could have used this. He did feel better, better then he had in a long time.
> 
> “What about you? When did you first smoke pot?”
> 
> “Me?” Krycek acted surprised to be asked. The joint was smaller now and Krycek crushed carefully, with it between his lips, used his fingers to crush out the tip. He seemed to be thinking, “Oh, well, Jesus… I was… 13? 14? I remember feeling so big, like I was Tony Montana.”
> 
> This made Mulder smile wide and he laughed with Krycek.
> 
> “I think some older boy had it. I don’t really remember him all that well. I think he was in the grade ahead of me. We were all sitting out behind the, uhhh, the science labs, I remember. Anyway, they offered and who was I, just some punk kid, to deny myself the chance to show the older boys I was just as cool?”
> 
> “Aaaah,” Mulder tipped his head back and laughed, “and I’m the slut? You’d do anything to impress the boys, apparently. Which one did you like?”
> 
> Krycek was laughing too and it was a sound that wasn’t often heard. His laugh was low and clear.
> 
> “No, no. It wasn’t like that. I just wanted to hang out with them, wanted to be part of their clique. Besides,” he let his laughter die to an easy smile, “you’re the only boy I like, Mulder.”
> 
> Mulder felt his eyes drop away, feeling a flush of something warm in his face. He ignored the comment, just as Krycek knew he would.
> 
> Krycek went on, “We got caught, anyway. Headmaster was… not very pleased.”
> 
> “What did your parents say?”
> 
> “They were dead by then.”
> 
> “Was it hard? Going to boarding school. You were so young,” Mulder asked, rolling his beer between his hands. He remembered once, long ago–maybe even when they’d been partners–talking to Krycek about his youth spent in boarding schools. Krycek had told him a wealthy uncle had paid for him, an uncle with no interest in raising children but whom felt obligation to Alex. Mulder had always suspected, but never said, that perhaps that "wealthy uncle" wasn't an uncle at all. And he smoked Morleys like a chimney.
> 
> “You get used to it. It was just my life. Kinda’ like now. It just… is what it is. Just keep movin’. That’s what I tell myself now and that’s what I told myself then: just keep movin’,” Krycek brought his bottle to his lips.
> 
> Maybe it was the pot. Mulder was feeling something verging on sadness, his heart felt near to swelling for Krycek. He wasn’t a man prone to being sympathetic towards him but that filter seemed gone from him tonight.
> 
> “Do you miss your parents?”
> 
> “Not anymore. I did. I did back then, yeah…” Krycek eyes were unfocused, partially because of the weed and partially because of the memory. He lingered in that misery for just a short while and Mulder watched his face reflect a billion different little things.
> 
> “You were just a kid, I’m sure you did,” Mulder’s voice was soft. His eyes lingered on Alex and he allowed himself he vision of a boy with no one to watch over him, in and out of schools and never a place to really call his home. His gaze trailed along Alex’s jaw, along his eyes and their dark lashes, around his mouth and the stubble of his cheeks. He looked so different, Mulder realized, from the last time he’d looked at him like this.
> 
> When they’d been partners and lovers and Mulder had longed to absorb every part of him, every angle and hair. He remembered laying beside him, the weight of Alex’s body on top of him and he remembered tracing a finger along his face, smiling when Alex would kiss the tip when it skimmed his lips. The thought made Mulder… nostalgic. It made him want again.
> 
> Abruptly Krycek threw up his hands, the prosthesis remaining unnatural stiff as he did so, “Jesus, you really know how to kill a buzz, you know that, Mulder? Come on, Alex, let’s get high and talk about your dead parents.”
> 
> His words were irritated but he tried to ease back from them with another small laugh, but this time there was bitterness in it. Mulder looked away, the spell having been broken.
> 
> “You’re the one who wanted to get high,” Mulder retorted. The movie was almost over, he saw, but he hadn’t been watching. The roach had long been killed and crushed out on the battered coffee table, “I distinctly remember saying we were too old for it.”
> 
> “Are we too old neck on the couch?”
> 
> “Sorry, Alex,” Mulder said, “maybe if this was my mom’s basement, we could have talked about it.”
> 
> Krycek began to move and came closer to Mulder as he shifted. Mulder’s heart began to beat and a whirling of thoughts ran through his head in just a moment; was he going to kiss him? Would he kiss him back? What would happen afterwards? How far would they go? How far did Mulder /want/ to go?
> 
> It was for naught as Krycek began to attempt to strip himself from his shirt. The motion surprised Mulder but as Krycek got it off, managing the motion with efficiency despite his missing arm, Mulder saw the reason for his actions.
> 
> “Do you need help?” he asked.
> 
> “No, no, I can do it. I do it almost every night by myself anyhow.”
> 
> There was a pause and Mulder asked tentatively, “Do you /want/ help?”
> 
> Silence and then, “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
> 
> Krycek shifted again to expose his broad back to Mulder, who crept across the cushions to sit behind him. Reaching up, Mulder began to work the leather straps of the prosthetic arm, unhooking the them. He worked slowly and deliberately, and his fingers brushed Alex’s skin as he did.
> 
> “These are so worn, Alex,” he said after moment, regarding the small shreds and how it was weaker in certain spots. He rubbed a thin patch of leather between his fingers, “It’s too old.”
> 
> “Yeah,” Krycek sighed, “It was old when I got it.”
> 
> Mulder resumed his work at removing it, helping him bring away the plastic piece to reveal the bandages over the stump, “Where did you get? A doctor gave it to you like this?”
> 
> Krycek gave a throaty laugh, “A doctor? Oh, man, Mulder, the pot really /has/ gone to your head. No, no,” Krycek let his laughter die to a smile, “A friend. It’s a little shorter than my other arm but the base fits my bicep so I guess I can’t complain.”
> 
> There was a little Mulder could think to say so he didn’t. He just began to unwind the wrappings. They were old too and Mulder casually mentioned in a low tone, “I might have some more gauze. Before you leave tomorrow, let me re-bandage it.”
> 
> “Okay,” was all Krycek said with a heavy sigh. He was tired. When Mulder sat back, Krycek worked to get his shirt back on. There was shuffling on the leather as the pair resumed their positions but this time Krycek swung his legs up, resting them on Mulder’s lap. The action was met with some objection.
> 
> “Hey, this is my bed, Krycek. You can go take the actual bed. Just move the boxes to the floor.”
> 
> Krycek didn’t move, he just lifted his arm to wave Mulder over, “Come here.” Mulder did not.
> 
> “I am here. I’m already here. I’m as close as I’m going to get.”
> 
> “No, come /here/. I can support your weight, come lay with me.”
> 
> Pot or no pot, Mulder shook his head. Without thinking, Mulder took hold of one of Krycek’s bare feet. The grip was light, not aggressive, “Absolutely not.”
> 
> Krycek didn’t move, he just sighed, watching Mulder for a long moment. He licked his lips before dropping his hand, which had been held out for Mulder to come to.
> 
> “Don’t do this,” he said. The movie was ending but neither one of them noticed.
> 
> “Do what, Krycek?”
> 
> “What happened to ‘Alex’?”
> 
> Mulder didn’t say anything, he just twisted his lips again, refusing to break eye contact with the other man. Krycek shifted a bit and his face registered something like irritation and… disappointment.
> 
> “Come lay with me. I’m asking you to. I want you to,” Krycek asked again, carefully. Mulder knew what would happen if he said yes so he continued to hesitate. If he said yes, he'd crumble.
> 
> What was he thinking? Mulder began to move, crawling his way up Krycek’s body. He was being foolish, he knew, but he felt the longing in Krycek and he felt it in himself, too. Resting down his body, Mulder found a comfortable place despite the limited size. The truth was, without his arm, there was a well-fitting crevice between Krycek and the cushions that allowed Mulder to rest easy, his head against Krycek’s strong shoulder. Krycek brought up his other arm to cross and stroke Mulder’s hair, gently massaging his ear when his fingers touched it.
> 
> They didn’t say anything about the re-establishment of intimacy between them, they just let it linger there without explanation, enjoying it. Mulder could feel his eyes closing, his body feeling heavy from the weed until he felt Krycek’s fingers run down his face to his chin, gently urging him to look up.
> 
> Just as he said… he knew this would happen but he let it follow it’s course. Mulder turned his head up and felt the soft touch of Krycek’s lips to his own. It was chaste and sweet. Mulder wiggled just a little to move up, to allow the kiss to deepen, opening his mouth to Krycek’s persistent tongue. Mulder breathed into the kiss, feeling warmth in his neck and face. It was easy to blame the pot, saying it had let his ambitions down, had allowed him to ignore the consequences but that wasn’t true and he knew that. Krycek knew that, too.
> 
> When the kiss broke, Krycek kept him close. He brushed his nose with Mulder’s and spoke in a rough, quiet tone, “You’re so beautiful.”
> 
> Mulder didn’t respond except to accept the small kiss he was given after the comment. He didn’t know what to say. Was Krycek beautiful? No. He was… erotic, sensual. His body, as maimed and scarred as it was, was nothing but sexy. Sometimes he reminded Mulder of a big cat, prowling and very dangerous. It worried and thrilled him.
> 
> “You…” Mulder brushed his lips against Krycek’s again then, slowly, smiled, “You taste like pot.”
> 
> Krycek laughed, low in his chest, and his fingers still stroked Mulder’s hair. He kissed him again and Mulder felt the urgency of this kiss now. The way Krycek moved to press his groin into Mulder’s leg and Mulder, feeling himself filled with a similar passion, opted to pull away. Krycek knew, he didn’t have to be told.
> 
> Mulder just couldn’t. Not tonight. Not now.
> 
> Krycek accepted it and sighed, laying his head back against the armrest. Mulder resumed his place on his shoulder.
> 
> “Tell me something, Mulder.”
> 
> “Hmm?” Mulder responded, breathing in the scent of Krycek–sweat and evergreen soap. He’d let his eyes close, absorbed in the feeling of his body against his own.
> 
> “Anything. Tell me what you think at night, when you sleep here on the couch by yourself.”
> 
> The VHS has finished and now there was nothing but a black screen to view on the screen, although neither one of them regarded it. Each man was falling into the ease of sleep, holding each other in the descent. Krycek’s fingers in his hair, Mulder’s fingers stroking his chest through the thin shirt.
> 
> Krycek thought Mulder had fallen asleep, his breathing was even and steady, until Mulder finally spoke, “I think… I wonder why it had to be like this, Alex. I wonder why you did what you did.”
> 
> Silence.
> 
> “I wonder that, too, Fox. I just…” Krycek searched for his words, “I just thought I was–”
> 
> “Don’t,” Mulder cut him off, reaching up to touch Krycek’s lips to stop him. He brought them back down to his chest, “I don’t want to talk about it now. Let’s just lay here.”
> 
> “I love you, Fox. Believe me.”
> 
> “I know,” he did. What he didn’t know was if it was enough for him to forgive. And he knew he loved Alex. He knew he’d be the only man he’d ever love. He just didn’t know if they’d ever be together–but they were tonight. Mulder only sat up enough to lean over Krycek and turn off the lamp besides his fish tank and return to his place.
> 
> His grip on Alex tightened. Regardless of what would happen from here, tonight nothing else existed and they were together.


End file.
